


Remembrance

by suzannemarie (finlass)



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-06-06
Updated: 2010-06-06
Packaged: 2017-10-09 23:02:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,537
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/92537
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/finlass/pseuds/suzannemarie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Somewhat of a mirror to another of my stories, <a href="http://archiveofourown.org/works/91982">Birthday</a>, told from another point of view. On her late son's birthday, Sara O'Neill finds both melancholy and comfort in memories. An evening with Jack offers a chance for conversation and understanding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Remembrance

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Birthday](https://archiveofourown.org/works/91982) by [suzannemarie (finlass)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/finlass/pseuds/suzannemarie). 



> Not episode specific, but in my mind it's set in season seven, somewhere between Death Knell and Lost City.

Sara slowly picked up the receiver and began dialing. Halfway through the sequence of digits she stopped and abruptly cradled the receiver. She had done this exact thing several times over the past two days. She wanted to hear his voice. What if he didn't want to hear hers? She wanted to extend the invitation. What if he shut her down?

Her hand remained on the phone while she carried on an internal argument. _You're a grownup!_ she scolded herself. _It's a simple invitation. The worst he'll do is say no. He's usually scarce this time of year anyway. He's probably on assignment and you'll get his answering machine._ Decisively, she picked up the phone again. It was early, but he was normally an early riser. If he was in town, this would probably be the best time to reach him. This time she dialed the complete number. She was mentally rehearsing the message she would leave on his voice mail when he answered the phone.

"Hello." The voice coming over the line sounded cross.

_Uh oh_, she thought. "Jack, it's Sara."

His voice became softer, more inviting. "Oh, hi Sara. How are you?"

"Okay... You know…" She faltered, unable to find the words to adequately answer his question.

"Yeah," he agreed.

His single word carried a wealth of meaning. With some hesitation she stated her reason for calling. "Listen, I know this is last minute, but I wanted to invite you over for supper tonight if you're free. Nothing fancy—I thought we could grill some burgers."

A long, agonizing silence followed her offer. _I've misstepped_, she thought. "You don't have to feel obligated," she said hastily. "It was just an impulse I had."

"No, that's not it," Jack told her. "I was just thinking over my schedule for the day. I wouldn't be very good company," he warned her.

"I would understand that better than anyone," Sara replied. "I'm willing to risk it."

"I don't know..."

His tone told her that he needed a little nudge or he would talk himself out of accepting the invitation. She struck a note that implied that he had already agreed. "7:00? You bring the beer."

There was another pause. "Okay, seven. I'll be there. Don't say I didn't warn you if I'm crappy company."

"I'll consider myself warned. See you tonight."

Sara hung up the phone feeling a flutter of relief, glad that she had made the call. She exhaled sharply and began plotting her day. Her first order of business was a trip to the grocery store. Now that she had a confirmed guest for supper, she needed something to feed him. She considered possible side dishes. Potato salad? It was not one of her favorites, but Jack liked it so she put it on the menu. She decided to balance it out with cole slaw for herself.

She returned home later that morning with everything she needed and efficiently began peeling potatoes and shredding cabbage. After folding her dressing into the potato salad and tossing the cole slaw with oil and vinegar, she put a pan of brownies into the oven. She formed the hamburger patties and stowed them in the refrigerator along with the salads. She cleaned up the kitchen and looked around; satisfied that at least the food portion of the evening was under control.

Sara tidied the rest of the house, then put her mind to one more thing she wanted to do that day. She walked slowly upstairs to Charlie's room. She sat on the bed, taking in the surroundings that she had examined a thousand times before. Pictures, models, toys—they all had stories and memories attached. She had donated most of his clothes and many of his toys to charitable organizations after Charlie's death, but she had also retained a substantial number of items. They were a tangible reminder of the boy who used to run through the house--the boy whose sixteenth birthday they should have been celebrating that day.

Not for the first time, Sara wondered if she should pack everything up and store it away. Was it time to turn the room into a guest bedroom? Or perhaps an office? She had started to do that many times over the years. Each time she had stopped, unable to follow through. It had felt too much like erasing his existence. Again she toyed with the idea of boxing up the items and taking them to the attic. Again she stopped, a lump rising in her throat, unwilling to take that step.

There was something that she _was_ prepared to do. _Something that I should have done a long time ago,_ Sara thought. She retrieved a box from the garage and returned to Charlie's room. She went painstakingly over the shelves and through the closet. Everything she touched held memories. Most things she left where they were, but some she placed carefully in the box. She smiled wistfully even while a few tears slid down her cheeks.

Jack had never asked for anything of Charlie's and she had never offered. She had long felt guilty about that omission. Perhaps he did not want any reminders, she thought, but he should at least have the chance to say so. Knowing Jack, guilt had prevented him from asking. If her suspicion was correct, then she would need to take the initiative. Filling this box for him would be a start.

She shook her head as she thought about her ex husband. She had often wondered over the years whether she should have fought harder for their marriage. He had been so shut down, and her emotions had been so raw, they had been unable to connect with each other. When she left, a part of her had hoped that Jack would follow. Instead, he had accepted her departure with a surprising passivity. _I don't know what else I should have expected,_ she thought ruefully. _Getting involved in a game of emotional chicken with the master of it was bound to turn out badly._

At the time, Jack's emotional unavailability had felt like a rejection. When he had not contested her departure, he had only reinforced her impression that, at least from an emotional standpoint, he had already left _her_. Her decision to leave had been a way to assert some control for herself. With the benefit of time, she wondered whether Jack simply had felt both too guilty and too proud to reach out to her. Had he thought that he was making it easier for her when he let her go? Maybe he had. He had served as a convenient focal point for her grief and anger, though she wasn't sure that she had ever been quite as angry with him as he believed. She wished again that he had just _talked_ to her. She wished that they could have been there for each other instead of grieving separately.

She sighed sadly. So many regrets, but what was done was done. There were a lot of things that she wished she could do over again. At least, all things considered, she was at a decent place now. It had taken a long time, but she had rebuilt her life. While there would always be a hole in her life where Charlie used to be, she had gotten through the darkest days. From her infrequent contacts with Jack, she gleaned that he had too. Taking a deep breath, she resolved to leave her regrets behind. Dwelling on the might-have-beens would only drive her crazy. It was time to leave the past in the past.

Sara checked her watch. It was after 6:00. She had spent more time than she realized holed up with her memories. There were still things to be done before Jack arrived.

She hurried downstairs and into the kitchen. She pulled a cooler to the back porch and filled it with ice. Taking a bottle of beer from the refrigerator, she added it to the cooler. She laid the briquettes on the grill and returned to the kitchen for matches. In her rush, she pulled a drawer open too forcefully and it came completely out of its slot, slipping from her hand. The contents spilled on the floor.

"Damn it!" She had been meaning to fix that drawer for a long time. She picked a book of matches out of the mess and went back to the porch to light the charcoal. Once the flames were well established, she returned indoors. After setting the drawer back in its slot, she looked at the scattered debris with exasperation.

In addition to fixing the drawer, she'd been meaning to clean it out. There was no time for that at the moment. For now, it would have to remain a catchall. She began returning items to the drawer in a haphazard manner. She was just replacing the last of a large assortment of pens—half of which she was sure did not work—when her eye fell on the final object remaining on the floor. She picked up a key and examined it quizzically. After a moment she began to smile. She clasped it in her hand, chuckling, a faraway look in her eye. She started to put it back in the drawer, but changed her mind. Carrying it upstairs, she dropped it into the box she had prepared for Jack.

Checking her watch again, Sara reentered the kitchen. She cut the brownies, put them on a plate, and set them aside. She was just starting to add final ingredients to the salads when the doorbell chimed.

"Come in," she shouted.

She looked up as her guest entered the kitchen. "Hi Jack. I'm glad you could come."

"So am I," he told her. He set a package on the table and kissed her cheek.

She relaxed into his hug. She had almost forgotten how good it felt to have his arms around her. Almost.

Disengaging from the hug, Sara picked up the beer that Jack and brought and handed him the platter of hamburger patties.

"Yeah, I prefer my burgers a little less raw these days," he said.

Sara rolled her eyes. "Don't be a brat. You're doing the grilling. It should be ready by now."

"So, you invited me over to cook for you?" he teased.

"You've caught on to my devious plan."

"I knew it!"

"Did you also bring the potato salad, the cole slaw, and the brownies? Oh, wait," she answered herself, "I made all that."

"Brownies?" he repeated.

"If you behave yourself there might be ice cream too."

They reached the porch. Jack started laying the patties on the grill. Sarah placed the beer that Jack had brought into the cooler. She pulled out the bottle that she had planted earlier, opened it, and handed it to him. "Here you go," she said. "You grill. I've got things to finish up in the kitchen."

She watched him for a few seconds, a little smile playing on her face, before leaving the porch. Back once more in the kitchen, she sliced tomatoes and cheese, put the final touches on the salads, and carried them outside. She followed that up with a tray loaded with plates, forks, and assorted condiments. Soon everything was ready and they were sitting down to eat.

"So," Sara asked. "How was your day?"

"Well, let's see," Jack sounded a little sheepish. "I behaved like a jackass toward the team I command, scared a teenage boy, and did a lot of paperwork. I've done better. But it actually ended up okay. How was your day?"

"Quiet. I took the day off. I did some cooking, of course, and a little bit of cleaning. I sorted through some things in Charlie's room. Cried a little."

"The boy that I referred to. He was about the same age as Charlie would be. He looked a lot like him too. It threw me."

"So you decided to scare him?" Sara asked.

"Not deliberately," he protested. "He was in the presence of my team and I had a temper tantrum with _them_. I made nice with him later. We found a shared interest."

"Baseball?"

"Fishing."

Sara smiled indulgently. "My other guess. And what about your team?"

"I've only been able to get one of them to go fishing with me."

"I meant did you make nice with them too," Sara said with practiced patience.

"I still need to make it up with them a little. I hate losing control."

"It's a hard day. It's understandable if you're not yourself."

"I guess," he said. "It's been eight years and sometimes it feels like it just happened yesterday."

"Sometimes it does for me too. And sometimes it seems like it was a lifetime ago."

Sara stood up and picked up some of the dishes to take inside. Jack rose to help her. Once in the kitchen, they set about putting things away. They had slipped comfortably into old, familiar domestic roles.

"If you'll put the rest of the dishes in the dishwasher, I'll take the brownies out to the porch," Sara said.

"And the ice cream?" Jack reminded her hopefully.

"And the ice cream," she agreed with a smile.

With everything else cleared away, the two sat down for dessert.

Sara had watched Jack all evening, gauging his frame of mind. The time seemed ripe to make her offer. Telling Jack that she had something for him, she excused herself. She dropped off the used dessert plates in the kitchen and returned to Charlie's room one more time. She picked up the box she had filled earlier and carried it to the porch.

"What's this?" Jack asked when she set the box in front of him.

Sara spoke softly, choosing her words carefully. "Lately I've been thinking about how all of Charlie's things stayed here. You've never really asked about it, but I think you should have some of his things too. If you want them. These are just a few things that I thought you'd like. If you want more or different things, we can talk about it."

She watched him open the box. She identified with the longing and reminiscence that she saw on his face as he began picking up items. "I remember building this with him," Jack commented as he looked at the model airplane. He turned the baseball glove over in his hands. "He didn't get much use out of this before…" His voice trailed off.

Sara recognized the looks and emotions behind Jack's words. She had taken the same journey herself in Charlie's room that afternoon. Jack glanced up and caught her eye. They traded understanding looks.

Jack looked back down as he continued to pull items from the box: an old coloring book, preschool artwork, a baseball, a small telescope. "Thank you," he said quietly.

"Can I ask you something?" Sara said.

"Of course."

"Is there a reason why you never asked for any of his things?"

She wasn't sure he was going to respond. Finally he spoke. "I couldn't."

"Why not?" she asked softly.

"It was my fault. My gun."

He had confirmed her suspicions. She felt a pang at the vulnerability she saw on his face. "Jack," she said gently. "It was an accident. I did blame you once, but I forgave you a long time ago. It's long past time for you to forgive yourself. I know you would undo it if you could. So would I." She paused. Both her face and voice were steady as she repeated her words, looking into his eyes. "It was an _accident._

Sara watched his face soften. He was older and sadder than the man who had been her husband. _But then so am I_, she thought to herself. His pained admission aside, he also looked more at peace than she remembered seeing at any time since that terrible day eight years ago. The essence of the man she had once loved was still present. She was heartened to see that.

Jack raised an eyebrow at her. "What?"

"I was just thinking that it's good to see you doing so well."

"I mentioned my temper tantrum of earlier, right?" he deflected.

"We all have our moments. But I know you. You seem like you're in a better place than in the past."

"I suppose I am," he sounded surprised to be saying the words out loud.

"I worried about you for a long time," she told him. "I wasn't sure if you would survive Charlie's death."

"For a long time I didn't want to."

"But you did. And it looks like you've found some peace. That's what I'm glad to see."

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you eight years ago. I should have been."

Tears pricked at Sara's eyes at Jack's combined admission and apology. "It's water under the bridge," she said. She was long past the need for recriminations. And, she had her own admission to make. "I probably could have been there for you more too."

"I suppose there will always be regrets," Jack observed.

"I've always wished you well." It was important to Sara that he know that.

"Me too," Jack told her. He appeared to be considering his phrasing, and then added, "I mean I've always wished you well too."

Jack returned Sara's smile and took another look into the box. Spotting the key, he picked it up, looking puzzled.

"Did you lose this?" he asked, holding it out to her.

Sara smiled again. "No. I came across it today in a drawer filled with a mish-mash of stuff. I have no idea why we would have kept it, but it's a key to that old mustang we used to have. Remember Charlie's adventure?"

Now Jack smiled too. "Who expects a three year old to steal a car?"

"I still can't believe he got out of a locked house with the car keys."

"I still can't believe that he was able to start the car," Jack added.

"It was a good thing he happened to pick reverse. If he had found a forward gear we would have had a house to repair instead of just a mailbox," she said. She relived the scene in her mind's eye.

Jack picked up the story. "I remember being upstairs and hearing the car start and wondering where you were going. Then I heard the crash."

Sara laughed. "I was in the kitchen and wondered the same thing about you. I was so surprised to see you running downstairs when I ran into the hallway."

"And then we go outside and the mailbox is knocked over and the car is in the ditch," Jack's smile had gotten bigger.

"Charlie's in the driver's seat—"

"Looking pleased with himself," Jack finished. "Without a scratch on him."

"Too bad the same couldn't be said for the car," Sara added.

They both laughed. It had been a favorite "Charlie" story that they used to recount regularly when they were still a family. It felt good to smile and laugh with Jack again. And to talk about Charlie. She gave a little sigh. _Why didn't we have this talk sooner?_ she wondered to herself. _So much time wasted._

Jack played with the little telescope, looking at the sky. Evening had transitioned into night. He got up to turn out the lights, making the stars easier to see. He took a seat on the porch swing. "Ursa Major is looking good tonight. See it?" he asked Sara.

_Oh here we go,_ Sara thought. "You know perfectly well that I've never been able to distinguish any constellation beyond the Big Dipper," she told him.

"Well that's a start. If you can find the Big Dipper, you can find the Great Bear. Look, you see the handle of the dipper? It's also the tail of the bear. Just follow the bowl of the dipper outward. It turns into the face of the bear."

Sara stared in the direction he pointed. "I see it," she said.

"Are you just saying that?" Jack sounded suspicious.

"Yes," she admitted. There was a pause. At his chiding look she continued. "Jack, have astronomy lessons between us ever ended well?"

Jack's lips twitched. "No," he conceded.

"I'll take your word for it that the constellations are where you say they are. Charlie was the one who could see them with you."

"Watching the night sky makes me feel close to him sometimes," Jack said quietly.

Sara nodded in understanding.

They were quiet again. Jack made a show of looking at his watch. "I should probably be going. It's getting late." He made no move to stand up.

"Do you have to? Sit with me awhile if you want. Have another beer." She handed him a bottle, took one for herself, and sat down next to him.

They watched the fireflies and the stars together.

After awhile, Jack raised his bottle. "Happy Birthday Charlie," he whispered.

"Happy Birthday," Sara echoed. "We miss you."

She put her head on Jack's shoulder. He wrapped his arm companionably around her. Nothing more needed to be said. They sat together in a friendly, comfortable silence well into the night.


End file.
